


carve your name into my bedpost

by underwaternow



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Superstition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 15:39:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16267229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underwaternow/pseuds/underwaternow
Summary: “Here’s what I’m thinking,” EJ says, no preamble. “That’s six in a row, and the first one on the road. I think you and Gabe need to keep sharing a bed until we lose. You never know, right?”





	carve your name into my bedpost

**Author's Note:**

> a week or so ago britta and i were talking fic ideas and she said, "what if gabe and tyson had to share a bed?" and then i wrote this, so as usual it’s her fault. thank you x1,000,000 for the idea/beta/praise/motivational texts, britta. you’re a real one. love you guys thanks for reading hope you like this! title is from dress by taylor swift.

It starts with a burst pipe.

More specifically, it starts with a burst pipe in Nate and Tyson’s hotel room in Dallas, on the one-game roadie that Tyson hadn’t really wanted to be on, if he’s honest. Sitting up in the box watching the games instead of being out there is bad enough in Denver, let alone on the road, but they’d won five in a row and EJ had picked now to be really superstitious.

“You have to come, Tys, or it’s your fault if we lose,” he’d said, on one of the nights they were in California and a bottle and a half of white wine deep, and Tyson had considered socking him right in his stupid toothless mouth. Except his punching hand is the injured one, and that probably would’ve delayed his recovery.

But now there’s a burst pipe in his hotel room, and the hotel is full, and Tyson’s goddamn hand is aching. To make matters worse, Nate calmly zips his toothbrush back into his bag and says, “EJ said I can stay in his room.”

“What!” Tyson says, loudly. “How is that fair?”

“I need a bed, I have to play tomorrow,” Nate says. Tyson sniffs. Nate has a lot of nerve abandoning him like this when they’ve only just been reunited after the bye week, even if he’s got a point.

“So then what am I supposed to do?”

“I’m sure someone else will let you crash with them,” Nate says, waiting patiently by the door as Tyson awkwardly gathers up his bags and shuffles after him. He’s already in his sweats. This isn’t fair. “Go ask Gabe.”

“No, go fuck yourself,” Tyson snaps. If it comes out a little more aggressively than it really needs to, that’s his business.

He’s pretty sure Nate is trying not to smile. “Okay, fine, go knock on doors, don’t let me stop you.”

“Why can’t I just come with you? Doesn’t EJ’s room have two beds? You and I can share the spare one, c’mon.”

“It does, but you kick.”

“I do not,” Tyson says indignantly, well aware that he absolutely does.

Nate just shrugs and comes to a stop in front of EJ’s room. “We both know you do. Sorry, Tys, but I have to get some sleep tonight.”

EJ opens the door, then, wearing tiny shorts and no shirt, because of course. “Bed by the window’s yours. Hey, Tyson.”

“Are you sure I can’t stay here?” Tyson demands. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“You can’t sleep on the floor,” Nate calls over his shoulder, “you could aggravate your hand.”

“I’ll aggravate your hand,” Tyson retorts. “Fine, maybe I’ll just call Jamie and have him pick me up.”

“Have fun getting a drive to the AAC with him tomorrow,” Nate says. “He can drop you off at the visitors’ entrance in front of everyone.” Tyson really does not know when Nate got such an attitude. He’s not a fan.

“Judas,” Tyson hisses, and leaves. 

Fuck.

He stands there in the hallway and contemplates his options. Comes would give him nightmares; Bernie is deep in his goalie routine and Tyson knows better than to bother him; Nemeth’s dead eyes are scarier than they should be. He knocks on Barbs’ door and no one answers. He knocks on Soda’s door, and Soda answers but is in the middle of FaceTiming his wife and kids, and Tyson feels like enough of a mess already; he doesn’t need to insert himself in the middle of that. Yak, Nieto, Z: none of them open the door, either. It’s 11 PM. Tyson knows they all have a game tomorrow, but seriously, he didn’t realize his teammates were a bunch of grandpas. 

Too quickly, he finds himself outside of Gabe’s room. Ugh. God. Why is this his life?

Tyson raises his hand to knock on the door, then reconsiders and just kind of… sits down on the floor. He needs a minute to gather his strength for this. He’ll just close his eyes while he does that. It’s kind of like meditating, which is good for gathering emotional strength. He thinks. 

The next thing Tyson knows, he’s blinking his eyes open and Gabe is crouched in front of him, looking worried. His eyes are all wide and extra blue and Tyson wants to push him over. 

“Tyson? Hey, what are you doing out here?”

“Burst pipe,” Tyson says, struggling to his feet and looking at his belongings spread out around him in the hallway. 

“What? Where?” 

“In my room,” he explains. “Water was leaking everywhere. Nate abandoned me to stay in EJ’s room because he ‘has to play tomorrow, Tyson.’” He puts on a mocking tone, high-pitched and mean, and one corner of Gabe’s mouth tugs up for just a second before it flattens back out.

“Stay with me,” Gabe says. “I can’t believe you’re just sitting out here in the hall, you could hurt your hand, it isn’t safe.”

“Okay, okay,” Tyson says. “Who are you, my mother?”

“No,” Gabe says, reaching for Tyson’s suitcase and gesturing Tyson into his room ahead of him. “I’m your friend, and your captain, and it’s my responsibility to make sure you have a place to sleep.”

“I’m pretty sure it very much is not,” Tyson says, finally hanging his stupid garment bag in the closet. Why did he even have to bring a suit anyway? He isn't playing. He should’ve just stayed home, where he wouldn’t have had to change out of his sweatpants. He wouldn’t have even had to put on sweatpants at home. 

“Will you just shut up and accept the help?” Gabe says.

“Fine,” Tyson says, turning to face Gabe. “Thank you, my wonderful friend and captain, for offering me a place to sleep when no one else would. You are truly my hero. Hey, Gabe, if you think about it, I’m kind of like Jesus.”

Gabe opens his mouth, pauses, then closes it again. 

“I was turned away by our teammates,” Tyson continues dramatically, mostly because he sees now that Gabe’s room has a single king bed, and being dramatic is better than just breaking down and screaming and trying to sleep in the hard, extremely uncomfortable armchair. “No one offered me help. Nate betrayed me.”

“You are not Jesus,” Gabe says, going into the bathroom. Tyson can hear the sink running. 

“I didn’t say I _am_ Jesus; I said I’m _like_ Jesus.”

“You’re not like Jesus, either,” Gabe says, voice raised to carry over the water noise. “I sleep on the left, you can’t have the left side.”

“Didn’t want it anyway,” Tyson calls back, hastily pulling the blankets on the left side of the bed back up and smoothing them out before circling around to the right side and getting in. He also really didn’t ever need or want to know what side of the bed Gabe sleeps on, but now he does, so that’s great. 

“Sure you didn’t,” Gabe says, turning off the bathroom light and sauntering over to the bed. Tyson glares at him, just because he can. How is everything Gabe does sexy, even when it’s also stupid as hell? It’s unacceptable. “Are we spooning, Tys?”

“Don’t touch me,” Tyson says rudely. “I get night terrors.”

“You are a night terror,” Gabe says, which. Well. Tyson set himself up for that one. “Fine, I won’t touch you. Jesus wasn’t this rude to his friends, by the way.”

“Goodnight,” Tyson tells him, and pulls the blankets up a little more.

“‘Thank you for letting me sleep here, Gabe,’” Gabe says, in what Tyson guesses is supposed to be an impression of him but is truly awful; it’s way whinier than he actually sounds. “‘I’m indebted to you forever.’”

“I already said thank you!”

“No problem, Tyson,” Gabe says in his normal voice. “Just being a good buddy, helping you out. It’s my pleasure.”

“Helping me out, eh?” Tyson says lewdly. He really can’t help himself; it’s like the time he propositioned his dentist because he didn’t think Dr. Culver would be able to understand him with all the cotton in his mouth. Turns out dentists have a lot of practice interpreting their patients’ mumbling and Dr. Culver understood perfectly. Tyson still needs to find a new dentist.

Gabe coughs. He doesn’t laugh. Ouch. There’s an awkward silence in which Tyson assumes Gabe is going over the reasons Tyson is a joke, with this added to the top of the list.

“Thank you, okay, I really do appreciate it,” Tyson says finally. “Will you let me go to sleep now?”

Gabe coughs again. “Sure.” He flips off the light and rolls onto his side, away from Tyson. “Night.”

Tyson is prepared to lie there and stare at the ceiling for an hour, but Gabe put an extra blanket on the bed so it’s warm and cozy, and he relaxes enough to drift off almost right away. Probably the painkillers he’s been taking for his hand. He’s been off them for over a week, but there could be long-lasting side effects, or something. It’s fine.

When he wakes up the next morning, Tyson immediately wishes he hadn’t, because at some point in the middle of the night his stupid traitorous body rolled over and cuddled up to Gabe. He doesn’t, like, have his arm over Gabe or anything, thank god, but they’re still touching and Gabe is warm and solid and smells really good and Tyson literally pinches himself, hoping he’s dreaming and will wake up for real and not be spooning his captain and incredibly hot friend. It hurts.

“Ouch,” he says aloud.

“Did you just hurt yourself lying in bed?” Gabe rumbles, his voice sleep-raspy. Tyson wants to die.

“No. Mind your own business.” 

Gabe laughs. Tyson feels the vibrations through his whole body down to his toes. 

They’re some of the first down to breakfast; without talking about it much, they shuffle through the buffet line and settle quietly into a table by the window. Tyson’s waffles are almost gone when his breakfast zen is disrupted by EJ dropping a banana and a plate of bacon and eggs down on the table and pulling out the chair next to Gabe.

“Hey, Tys,” EJ says too cheerfully. “How’d you sleep?”

Tyson flips him off.

“Did you find a place?” EJ continues. “Benn didn’t have to come save you?”

“What?” Gabe says through a spoonful of oatmeal. Gross.

“Oh, he almost called good old Jamie to come rescue him,” EJ announces.

“Shut up, Johnson,” Tyson says.

Gabe’s eyebrows are creasing together as he turns to look at Tyson. “You didn’t want to stay with me?”

“Of course I did,” Tyson says. It’s completely unconvincing. 

“Sure, because no one else would let you stay with them,” EJ says. 

“Oh,” Gabe says softly, and when Tyson looks over at him he’s frowning down at his oatmeal, dragging his spoon through it. An uncomfortable silence settles over the table.

“Hey,” Nate says, jostling Tyson’s elbow as he sits down with them. “I saw Soda in the elevator and he said last night you came to his room but then left, did you end up actually calling Jamie?”

Gabe stands up abruptly, his chair scraping across the floor, and leaves without a word. 

“What’s his problem?” Nate asks.

EJ cackles. “You know how he feels about Benn.”

“Who I _did not call_ ,” Tyson snaps. 

“Okay,” Nate says. “Jesus, relax.” He slurps obnoxiously at his orange juice.

Tyson glares at the last few bites of his waffles.

-

They beat the Stars, and once they’re back on the plane home EJ appears out of nowhere and settles into the seat across from Tyson. 

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” he says, no preamble. “That’s six in a row, and the first one on the road. I think you and Gabe need to keep sharing a bed until we lose. You never know, right?”

“No,” Tyson says flatly. “Don’t bullshit me, you aren’t superstitious, I’m not doing that.”

“We can’t risk it!” EJ says. “MacKinnon, back me up here.”

Nate makes a non-committal noise and doesn’t look away from the game he’s playing on his phone. 

“Okay,” EJ says. “Understandable. Counterpoint: I’m pulling rank, you have to or I’ll fine you.”

“You can’t _fine me_ because I won’t have sleepovers with Gabe,” Tyson says, even though he knows that EJ kind of can. That’s kind of the point. 

EJ shrugs, a stupid evil grin creeping across his face. “Can’t I? I’m thinking - hm. $1,000 every night you don’t share a bed with Gabe.”

“Come off it,” Tyson groans. “Nate, can you get involved here, please?”

“No thanks,” Nate says. “I’m staying out of this.”

“What the fuck!” Tyson yelps. “What did I ever do to you?” He gets up and leaves without waiting for an answer, sits at the back of the plane by himself for the rest of the flight, and catches up to Gabe after they’ve landed and deplaned. 

“Hey. Did you hear about this bullshit EJ’s on now?” Tyson asks, close at Gabe’s elbow. “He thinks we should keep sleeping in the same bed to protect the win streak.”

Gabe grunts.

“That’s crazy, right?” Tyson says. “We don’t need to do that.”

“Maybe we should,” Gabe says challengingly, looking at Tyson, his eyes flashing, and then away. “Maybe he has a point.”

“What the hell?”

“I can’t leave Zoey alone, so you’ll have to come to my house,” Gabe says, as if Tyson didn’t say anything. “You know where the spare key is if you get there before I do.”

“I don’t accept checks or cards, Barrie,” EJ says as he walks past. “Cash only!”

Tyson wants to sigh for one million years. He wants to go home. He absolutely does not want to spend any more nights sleeping next to Gabe, but instead he hears himself saying, “Fine. But I want ice cream.”

“I have ice cream,” Gabe says. “There’s cookie dough ice cream and rainbow sprinkles and whipped cream at my house.”

“Oh,” Tyson says. “That’s my favorite.”

“I know,” Gabe says, and then turns and walks away to his car. What the fuck.

“What the fuck,” Tyson hisses, grabbing Nate by the elbow as he passes. “Gabe is on board with this nutso plan, and he has my favorite ice cream at his house already.”

“He has cookie dough ice cream at his place?” Nate asks.

“And rainbow sprinkles, and whipped cream,” Tyson says. 

“So… your favorite food, plus Zoey. It won’t be that bad,” Nate says. 

“Judas!” Tyson exclaims. “No, wait, now you’re the other one, that’s the second time in two days you’ve betrayed me.”

“Just go over there and sleep on the couch,” Nate says. “EJ isn’t gonna come do bed checks.”

“That’s exactly something EJ would do,” Tyson says darkly. 

Gabe is already home when Nate drops Tyson off, idling by the curb to make sure he actually goes in, and Zoey greets him at the door when Tyson finds the extra key in the flowerbed and lets himself in. 

“I got you a burrito,” Gabe calls from the kitchen, and Tyson leaves his suitcase by the door and heads in. There’s a plastic bag from his favorite 24-hour Mexican place on the island, the promised burrito and a container of guac inside, and Tyson groans appreciatively. 

“Oh my god, Gabe, I love you,” he says, resisting the urge to rip through the foil with his teeth, and Gabe quirks an eyebrow and takes another bite of his own burrito and doesn’t say anything. Zoey noses at Tyson’s leg as he crams a huge bite of burrito into his mouth, silently begging; when Gabe says something sharp to her in Swedish she sits back. 

“I could sleep on the couch,” Tyson says, once his burrito is gone. “Or in a guest room.”

“Do whatever you need to do,” Gabe says sourly. Tyson frowns. None of this is the reaction he expected. 

“I mean. We can share a bed if it’s that important.” 

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Gabe says, gathering the trash up in the plastic bag, sounding like it very much does matter. 

“Okay, we’ll share,” Tyson says, suddenly desperate for Gabe to just act normal. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Gabriel.”

“Great,” Gabe says, and then leaves the kitchen and turns the light off as he goes, leaving Tyson standing there in the dark. 

“I still want ice cream!” Tyson calls after him, but Gabe doesn’t respond. What the hell. If he’s stuck spending the night here until they lose he’s damn well going to make himself at home, though, so Tyson fumbles around for the light switch and digs the ice cream out of the freezer. He makes himself a sundae fit for a king and settles down on the couch to enjoy it while he watches an episode of The Simpsons. Zoey jumps up next to him, resting her head on his thigh, and Tyson rubs her ears once his ice cream is gone and he can put the bowl down on the table. When the episode is over, she climbs off the couch, stretches, and looks at him expectantly. 

“Okay, okay,” Tyson grumbles, and he goes back to the kitchen to put his bowl in the sink - he purposely doesn’t rinse it out, because he knows that’ll piss Gabe off - and then turns off the lights and heads up the stairs, Zoey following close.

Gabe is already in bed with the light off when Tyson lets himself in the bedroom, asleep or pretending to be, and Zoey leaps up lightly onto the bed and curls up against his legs. Tyson doesn’t bother trying to be quiet as he digs his toothbrush and a pair of sweats out of his suitcase, turns the light on in the bathroom without shutting the door first, and runs the faucet excessively while he gets ready for bed. If Gabe is going to act like a brat, Tyson can play that game. 

Gabe is snoring when he comes out of the bathroom, just a little, and as Tyson slides in on his side - the right side, he corrects himself. There is no _his side_ of Gabe’s bed - he takes a moment to be grateful that Gabe really is asleep. It makes it a lot easier for him to lie rigidly at the far edge of the mattress and try not to think about how the sheets smell like Gabe, clean and woodsy. He feels Zoey stretch out, her paws bumping against Tyson’s legs, and just like the night before, Tyson falls asleep a lot faster than he expected. 

-

“Hey, listen up!” EJ hollers, standing on one of the locker room benches. They just finished postgame media after their win over Anaheim, and there’s a solid, happy, excited vibe in the room. Everyone turns to look at EJ. Tyson tries not to sigh; nothing good has ever come of EJ making a loud, raucous speech, and this one promises to be just that.

“Great job tonight, fellas,” EJ starts. “Every one of you played your heart out and I god damn loved it. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t recognize Tyson and Gabe for their hard work keeping this streak going.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Tyson says. EJ throws a towel at him.

“Quiet. We won on the road in Dallas after Tyson bunked with Gabe, and these two are so dedicated to their teammates that they’re going to keep it up. They don’t want to risk jinxing it.”

“Jinxes aren’t real,” Tyson mutters. Next to him, Nate is picking the tape off his socks; he shushes Tyson. Rude.

“Let’s give them a hand,” EJ concludes, smiling smarmily at Tyson and applauding. He’s mostly ignored, but a few guys clap along good-naturedly, and Tyson seriously considers pushing him off the bench. The team doesn’t need more injuries, though, and EJ hops down then anyway, ritual public embarrassment of Tyson finished for the day, and the noise level in the room slowly picks back up. 

Tyson glares at nothing in particular, picks the skin around his thumbnail as he waits for Nate, lets the conversation wash over him. Two lockers down, Sam and Z are excitedly recapping their best plays from the game; across from Tyson, Josty and Kerf and JT are talking and Tyson tunes in just in time to hear Josty say, “...never been a part of anything like this before.”

“I didn’t know what to expect,” Kerf says, “being here, but - ”

“Not this, right?” JT finishes, and Tyson can’t miss the huge smiles on their faces. It’s sweet. He remembers being a rookie; he was mostly just scared for the entire season, trying to not fuck up completely all the time, but he remembers that nothing felt as good as a win. 

He remembers last season, too. Tyson doesn’t think he’ll forget that for a long time. 

“You ready?” Nate says then, and Tyson shakes himself a little and nods, stands up. He follows Nate out, waving goodbye to custodians and the security guard in the parking lot, and he’s just about to slide into the car when someone calls his name.

“Tyson!” Bernie calls again. He’s jogging through the parking garage toward Nate’s car, his wife and son following more slowly. The kid is wearing a goalie mask and carrying a toy Lightsaber, and keeps stopping to brandish it at nothing in particular. 

“Hey,” Tyson says. “What’s up, man? Hey, good game.”

“Thanks,” Bernie says. “That’s - I mean, I wanted to say thank you. What you and Gabe are doing, I know not many guys in this room are very superstitious, so for you to do this for us - for me… I can’t believe you’d really do that.”

“Oh,” Tyson says. His stomach sinks. Bernie’s looking at him all softly, and Tyson knows he’s kind of a freak about his jinxes and superstitions and routines. Goalies usually are. Tyson knew a guy in junior who ate nothing but bratwurst and sauerkraut on game days. He always smelled incredibly bad. 

Bernie shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his smile dimming slightly. “I mean - you are, right? Or is EJ just - ”

“No!” Tyson says hastily. “No, we are, uh. This is for you. It’s for the team. I can’t be out there, it’s the least I can do.” 

Bernie’s face lights back up. “Thank you. Tell Gabe I said thank you, too. I didn’t catch him before he left.”

“Sure thing,” Tyson says, accepts a handshake before Bernie heads back to his family, and then gets in the car and groans loudly.

“Idiot,” Nate says, but it’s kind. “Why’d you say that?”

“They’re all so happy we’re winning,” Tyson says simply. “How am I supposed to take that away from them?”

“Jinxes aren’t real,” Nate reminds him. “But - yeah. I get what you mean.”

Tyson groans again, more loudly this time, as Nate starts the car and pulls out of the garage. 

“I’ll take you to Dairy Queen before I drop you at Gabe’s,” Nate says.

-

When Tyson lets himself in the house after drowning his sorrows in a Blizzard, Gabe and Zoey are curled up on the couch with the TV on. Sportscenter is playing, but Tyson can tell Gabe isn’t really watching it; he’s staring absently at the TV, letting it wash over him, but he’s not taking it in.

“Hey,” Tyson says tentatively, and Gabe glances up and his face breaks into a smile. 

“Hey. Was wondering when you’d show up.”

“Nate took me to Dairy Queen. I almost got you one, but it would’ve melted.”

“It’s okay,” Gabe says. He shifts over a little on the couch. “C’mere, there’s room, come sit down with us.” There isn’t, not really; Zoey’s hogging most of the couch, stretched out fully, but Tyson squeezes himself into the space between her and Gabe anyway. They’re sitting close together, but Gabe doesn’t seem to mind. He leans into Tyson a little. “‘m tired.”

“Yeah, you played a full hockey game, bud,” Tyson says gently, reaching over Zoey to grab a blanket off the arm of the couch. Gabe squints one eye open and gives Tyson a look, but it’s nice; it’s Normal Gabe, not the grouchy imposter who’s been occupying Gabe’s body for the last few days and doesn’t seem to like Tyson at all. 

“Miss you out there with us,” Gabe says, closing his eyes again as Tyson spreads the blanket over their laps and leaning even further into Tyson to rest his head on Tyson’s shoulder. “‘s not the same without you.”

“I know,” Tyson says glumly. “It sucks.”

“Hey, no, sorry,” Gabe says. “I didn’t mean to bum you out.”

“I’m okay,” Tyson says, because he is, he got all his moping out the first two weeks, “but it still sucks.”

“Well. Yeah.” Gabe yawns, presses his face against Tyson’s bicep. Tyson’s seen him like this before, knows how tactile Gabe gets when he’s really tired, but it’s just so much when they’re curled up on the couch in his house, his dog snoring lightly next to Tyson, when they’re about to go to sleep together in his bed. It almost feels real, and Tyson swallows around the lump in his throat that reminds him it’s not. 

“You smell good,” Gabe says suddenly. He has to be almost asleep, Tyson knows, his voice soft and slurry, but Tyson’s stomach clenches anyway. Why is Gabe _smelling_ him, what did he do to deserve this hell?

“Let’s get you to bed, come on,” he says, standing up. He jostles both Landeskogs and they blink their eyes open and frown at him in unison, which is actually kind of creepy. “Zoey looks just like you. Come on, big guy.” He offers Gabe his hand, and Gabe takes it and lets Tyson pull him to his feet. He stumbles a little, sleep-drunk, sways and leans in close, and Tyson wants to go up on tiptoe and kiss him so badly it hurts. 

He doesn’t, though, just turns off the TV and guides Gabe out of the room. 

“Zoey’s a dog,” Gabe is saying belatedly, “she can’t look like me, Tys.”

“She does, though,” Tyson says, turning off the lights. “You have the same glare.”

Gabe laughs softly, more to himself than anything, and starts up the stairs. Tyson checks to make sure the doors are locked, sets the alarm system - it’s maybe strange he knows the code, he thinks as he’s punching it in. It’s Zoey’s adoptiversary, because it’s Gabe and so of course it is and it makes Tyson’s stupid love drunk heart clench every time he thinks about it, but he can’t unknow it and it makes sense, maybe, if he’s staying here for now that he knows it - and follows Gabe up to bed.

Gabe is already in bed, wrapped in the duvet like a pillbug and absolutely encroaching on Tyson’s side of the bed. The right side. Whatever. 

“Gabe. Hey. Did you brush your teeth?” Tyson doesn’t mean to sound like such a mom, but it’s well known how much Gabe bitches about it the next day if he goes to bed without brushing his teeth first. It’s for Tyson’s own good, really, that he’s asking.

“Yes,” Gabe mumbles into the pillow. “I did it earlier, when I was waiting for you to get home.”

Tyson’s stomach is suddenly full of butterflies. Jesus. _Home_. The small lamp on the bedside table is on, lighting Gabe up in a soft gold glow, and Tyson has never wanted anything this much. “Okay. Just checking.” 

He brushes his own teeth, changes into sweats and an old soft practice tee, and turns off the light before he gets into bed. Gabe seems to be sound asleep, but as soon as Tyson settles down, he’s shifting closer, burrowing his face against Tyson’s shoulder like he had downstairs on the couch.

“‘s okay?” Gabe asks. “You’re warm.”

“Yeah,” Tyson says, hoarsely. “It’s okay.”

Gabe hums a little. He’s asleep in seconds, his breathing evening out against Tyson’s arm, and Tyson lies there and tries to breathe himself. 

When Tyson wakes up the next morning, Gabe is already gone. His side of the bed is neatly made, no indication that anyone slept there at all, and Tyson rubs his eyes and sighs. When he gets downstairs, Gabe is eating cereal and reading the paper aloud to Zoey, but he stops when Tyson walks in.

“Hey,” Tyson says.

“Hi,” Gabe says. “You sleep okay?”

Tyson nods and pours himself a bowl of cereal. They’re both quiet as he carries it to the table and sits down.

“Sorry about last night,” Gabe says finally. “I was just really tired.”

Tyson blinks at him and tries not to feel like his heart is crumbling into dust. Right. “It’s fine. Hopefully I’ll be out of your hair soon. I mean - not _hopefully_ , I just…”

“I get it, Tys,” Gabe says tightly. 

Tyson doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.

“I have to go to practice,” Gabe says, getting up and rinsing out his bowl. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” Tyson says. Gabe doesn’t reply, just lets the door to the garage slam behind him. Tyson sits there and pokes at his cereal and tries not to sulk in front of Zoey, but he doesn’t do a great job.

-

The wins keep coming, San Jose and then New York. 

_pack ur bags tys !_ reads the message he gets from EJ after they beat the Rangers, arriving on his phone just before midnight as he’s lying in bed - in Gabe’s bed, trying not to listen to Gabe move around in the bathroom as he takes a postgame bath, which Tyson is stubbornly not thinking about.

 _i cant believe i have to go on the roadie when i cant play for this_ Tyson sends back. The team doctors have been making noise about how he’s almost ready to play again, but nobody’s saying anything specific, and even though his hand feels good Tyson doesn’t want to get his hopes up. They’re not going to rush him back when the team is doing this well, he figures. He’ll keep resting through the All Star break.

All EJ sends back is the money face emoji. Tyson replies with the middle finger emoji and puts his phone on Do Not Disturb. 

“Tyson?” comes Gabe’s voice from the bathroom.

“What?” Tyson says.

“C’mere for a second.”

“No!” Tyson says. “You - aren’t you in the tub?”

He can feel Gabe sigh through the door. “I left my towel all the way across the bathroom. I don’t want to drip all over the floor.”

“Too bad!” Tyson says, only semi-hysterically. “I’m not coming in there.” There’s a pause, and then he can hear the water sloshing around in the tub as Gabe gets out. Tyson is not thinking about it. 

When Gabe emerges a few minutes later, thankfully dressed in a t shirt and boxer briefs - which, if Tyson’s being honest, isn’t great but is at least better than nothing - he shuffles over to the bed and gets in and doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. 

“Sorry about this,” he says finally. He doesn’t sound all that sorry, just bitter, and Tyson doesn’t know what to say back. “It’s okay”? “You’re just so hot it makes me want to die, and sleeping in your bed with you every night is kind of fucking me up”? “Let’s murder EJ together for putting us through this”? None of it seems right. 

He settles on, “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who got taken in by Bernie’s gentle eyes and gratitude.” Tyson’s trying to make a joke, desperate to lighten the mood, but Gabe just presses his lips together and nods. 

“I can’t believe I have to go on the roadie for this,” Tyson adds.

“They’ll have you go anyway,” Gabe tells him tightly. “You’re almost game ready.”

“You think?”

Gabe nods again. He looks unhappy. Tyson hates it.

“Okay. Yeah.” Tyson rubs at the corner of his eye. “Guess Nate gets his own room for a bit.”

Gabe cracks a smile. “I don’t know why you two still share.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Tyson says. “That’s my Dogg.”

Gabe shakes his head, still smiling faintly down at the duvet, and then reaches over and turns off the light. “Goodnight, Tyson.”

“Night,” Tyson says, staring at the ceiling as Gabe shifts around, getting comfortable. His foot brushes against Tyson’s ankle, and Tyson tries not to jerk away. He fails, kind of, tries to play it off as a sleep movement even though there’s no way he could be asleep already. Gabe doesn’t say anything, just rolls onto his side away from Tyson, and Tyson can feel the tension radiating off Gabe’s body in waves. Jesus. Tyson has never once wished for a loss, and he isn’t about to start now, but he really thinks he might lose his mind if he doesn’t get to put some space between Gabe and himself soon.

-

It doesn’t happen in Toronto. They win again, and spirits are high on the quick flight over to Montreal. Tyson follows Gabe into their hotel room, grits his teeth, tries very hard not to look outwardly frustrated. He doesn’t think he does a very good job, because Gabe glances at him and frowns. Gabe doesn’t say anything, though, just shuts the bathroom door a little more firmly than necessary.

 _this is a nightmare_ , Tyson texts Nate. _u have to help me. tell everyone that jinxes aren’t real_

 _I tried that and ej told everyone no, they are !_ Nate sends back. _we can’t have the As arguing wit each other_

God. Tyson is absolutely going to set a bag of dog shit on fire and leave it on EJ’s front porch once this is finally all over. He doesn’t know what he did to EJ in a past life, but it must’ve been something really bad. 

His suspicions are confirmed when he’s woken up by Gabe’s phone ringing in what has to be the middle of the night; next to him, Gabe is rolling over, fumbling for it, and then Tyson hears him say, very quietly, “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

There’s a pause, and then the call must connect, because EJ’s voice comes through the phone: “Bedcheck, Landeskog, show me Tys.”

“I hate you,” Gabe says. “It’s four in the morning and you’re _FaceTiming_ me to make sure Tyson’s here?”

“Gotta make sure,” EJ says. He sounds way too awake for 4 AM. “Where is he?”

He must really be on FaceTime, because there’s another pause and then EJ says, “Aw. Sleeping like an angel.”

“Not for long, with your stupid yapping,” Gabe hisses. “Be quiet, Jesus.”

“You’re cheerful,” EJ comments. “It’s going well, then?”

“It’s 4 AM and you woke me up for this bullshit,” Gabe says. “And you know perfectly well how it’s going.”

EJ laughs. He sounds demonic. “That well, huh?”

“It’s killing me,” Gabe says. Tyson’s stomach clenches; it’s not like he didn’t know that, but hearing Gabe say it while lying next to him really elevates it from _bad_ to _fucking soul-crushing_. He’s surely not that awful to share a bed with. He kicks, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t snore, and he doesn’t talk in his sleep. Tyson is a very considerate sleeping partner, and if Gabe hates it, well. Tyson guesses they aren’t as comfortable with each other as he thought they were. That’s fine. He wishes Gabe would just be honest with him; he’s an adult, he can take it.

“I’m hanging up on you,” Gabe is informing EJ, and then he really must, because EJ is cut off mid-sentence, and the room is quiet again. Tyson keeps his breathing as slow and even as possible while Gabe thrashes around, getting comfortable again, and once Gabe is snoring next to him again he lies awake and stares at the ceiling for awhile. 

The next morning Tyson wakes up with his head on Gabe’s chest. Their legs are all tangled up, he can feel Gabe’s heart beating, and the panic rises up before he can stop it, because this - this is so much worse than Gabe being clingy as he falls asleep. This is Tyson, gravitating toward Gabe in sleep, always toward Gabe no matter how much he tells himself he can’t. He wrenches himself away, out of Gabe’s grasp, his own heart pounding.

“I’m so sorry,” he babbles as Gabe sits up, looking sleep-rumpled and beautiful and really pissed off. “I didn’t mean to - oh god. I didn’t want for that to happen.”

“Whatever, Tyson,” Gabe says, and gets out of bed and goes in the bathroom. Tyson flops backward, starfishes in the middle of the bed and stares at the ceiling and just wants it to be over.

-

He gets his wish. They lose to Montreal. The mood on the flight to St. Louis isn’t the worst Tyson’s ever experienced after a loss; they’re disappointed, not defeated, but no one likes to lose. It’s mostly just subdued, people keeping to themselves. Tyson dozes. As they’re walking across the tarmac to the bus after landing, Tyson catches up with Nate and wraps his arm around Nate’s shoulders.

“I’m back with you, buddy,” he says. “Nate Mack and T Beauty, roomie power duo, together again at last.”

“Don’t let Gabe hear you say that,” Nate mumbles, and that’s when Tyson notices that Gabe is just in front of them. His shoulders are all tensed up, and Tyson tries not to groan because he just knows this isn’t going to go well. 

“I’m so sorry that was such a terrible experience for you, Tyson,” is what Gabe hits him with snidely in the the elevator at the hotel. It’s just the two of them and Nate, and Nate slides away from Tyson, the coward, and looks very intently at his phone. Tyson can see from where he’s standing that Nate doesn’t even have an app open; he’s just swiping between home screens to look occupied. 

“What the hell,” Tyson says slowly, “are you talking about?”

“You didn’t even want to stay the night in my room in the first place,” Gabe snaps. “I was your last choice, and that’s - it’s whatever, but you could’ve been less obvious about how miserable you were.”

“Me?!” Tyson says. “What about you? You couldn’t have been less happy to be stuck with me!” He takes a deep breath and glares at Gabe. “I heard you, you know. Talking to EJ. I heard you tell him how much this is _killing you_.”

Nate makes a small, sudden, worried noise. Tyson ignores him; it can't be that important. 

Gabe blinks, and seems to falter for a second, but then he inhales sharply through his nose and his face gets redder, angrier. “Oh, excuse me, I forgot that I’m supposed to pretend to be happy to be stuck in an endless domestic sleepover hell with someone who’d rather - rather _call Jamie Benn to be saved_!” His eyes are blazing. The elevator comes to a stop at their floor, dings, and the doors slide open. Nate bolts. 

“What the hell,” Tyson says again. He laughs; he can’t help it. He’s incredibly uncomfortable. “You’re still on that?”

“Sorry that I’m not happy that I don’t even rank above him,” Gabe snarls. Tyson’s never seen him like this off the ice, mean and red-faced, furious energy pouring off him. Tyson is starting to think this isn’t just about their sleeping arrangements for the last eleven nights. 

“What does _that_ mean?” he asks anyway, just in case.

“I - nothing,” Gabe says. Being asked directly seems to have brought him up short, and now he doesn’t want to talk. Well, that’s too damn bad.

“No, tell me,” Tyson says, hot on his heels as Gabe walks to his room. “I’m dying to know, Gabe, seriously. Tell me why you think I’m your last choice.”

Gabe gets to his room and tries to unlock the door; his hands are shaking too much, and he puts the keycard in the wrong way the first two times. When he finally gets it, Tyson sticks close and follows him in before Gabe can slam the door in his face. 

“I _obviously was_!” Gabe explodes once they get the door shut behind them. “Yeah, it was great sitting at breakfast and hearing that you tried literally every other option before me and feeling stupid as hell because I thought you came to my room first!”

Tyson blinks at him for a full minute. 

“Say something!” Gabe finally snaps at him. 

“You’re fucking always my first choice,” Tyson says. That… wasn’t planned. Gabe’s mouth, which was parted angrily as he took short breaths like a deranged bull, snaps shut. Tyson doesn’t know quite where he’s going with this, but he plunges forward. “Besides Nate, I mean, but that’s. It’s not the same. I came to your room last out of, like, self-preservation. Jesus.”

Gabe is standing very, very still. Tyson can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. 

“I figured the last thing I should do is share a bed with you,” Tyson goes on. His face is so hot it feels like the time that, on a family vacation in Florida as a kid, he let his sister bury him in the sand and then he fell asleep there for three hours. He’d been so sunburned he’d barely talked for two days. “I… you look like _that_ and you make me go all crazy and say stupid shit and embarrass myself normally and sharing a bed with you sounded like a terrible idea, yeah, but not because I don’t like you, Gabe. I like you too much.”

The room is very, very quiet. Tyson can hear the door of the next room over thud shut as its occupant - one of their teammates, he prays - goes in or out. 

“You have no idea,” Gabe starts, and then he shakes his head impatiently and crosses the room in three strides. He’s suddenly so close to Tyson that their chests are brushing together. Tyson has to tip his head back to meet Gabe’s eyes. “You have _no idea_ ,” Gabe repeats roughly, cupping Tyson’s face in his hands, “what you do to me.”

And then Gabe kisses him. 

It’s like a kiss from a movie, Tyson is pretty sure: big and sweeping and dramatic and perfect and he never wants it to end. He winds his arms around Gabe’s neck as he kisses him back, slides his fingers through the hair at the back of Gabe’s neck and presses closer, and Gabe makes a small, desperate noise against his mouth. Tyson feels triumphant.

When they break apart, Tyson takes a deep breath and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smiles a little, dopily, when Gabe blinks at him slowly. “Hi.”

“Oh,” Gabe breathes, and Tyson kisses him, this time. It’s slower, less frantic, and they end up on the bed, Gabe settling himself on top of Tyson and pressing him into a cloud of pillows and kissing him carefully until Tyson feels like jelly all the way down to his toes. 

“I didn’t know,” is what Gabe says finally, breathing it against Tyson’s neck. His tie is off, his shirt half undone, his hair messy and his eyes bright, and he’s the most gorgeous thing Tyson has ever seen. “I thought - I don’t know what I thought.”

“I didn’t know either,” Tyson says. “You could’ve told me instead of just assuming I hate you. Idiot.” The insult slips out before he can stop it, but Gabe just beams at him, face lit up, and Tyson’s chest physically hurts from everything he’s feeling. 

Gabe kisses him again. Tyson kind of feels like he’s floating away on the pillow cloud. “You don’t hate me,” Gabe mumbles, and Tyson can hear the smile in his voice. This is the best day of his life. 

“Of course I don’t, are you kidding? Even if I didn’t like you, I’d never hate you.”

Gabe lifts his head up to meet Tyson’s eyes and grins, sharper this time, and Tyson swallows, pinned down by his gaze. His hands are only shaking a little as he finishes unbuttoning Gabe’s shirt and helps him out of it. When Gabe tugs him into a sitting position so he can do the same with Tyson’s shirt, Tyson absently strokes his hands over Gabe’s thighs, thick and muscular and straddling Tyson’s hips, just for something to do. 

“You good?” Gabe breathes, cradling Tyson’s face in his big hands again. “God, you look good.” Tyson might be swooning.

“I’m good,” he confirms, and reaches between them to unbuckle Gabe’s belt. Gabe nips at his bottom lip when he kisses him again and Tyson gasps, small and stifled, against Gabe’s mouth. Gabe groans in response, a low, drawn-out rumble that Tyson can feel run through him, and he needs the rest of these clothes out of the way, now.

Gabe laughs when Tyson tells him so, but he stands up and strips and smirks at Tyson, tilting his head a little as if to say _your turn_ , and Tyson almost falls off the bed trying to scramble up and get the rest of his clothes off. Gabe starts laughing, and after a week and a half of Mean Gabe, Tyson’s chest swells with happiness at the sound. Jesus, he’s so gone.

Gabe wraps an arm firmly around Tyson’s waist and topples them back down onto the bed, and Tyson digs his fingers into Gabe’s hair and pulls him down to kiss him breathlessly again.

“Jesus fuck,” Tyson gets out against Gabe’s mouth when Gabe starts grinding his hips down, bumping his dick against first Tyson’s thigh and then Tyson’s dick. Tyson thinks maybe he’s died and this is just what heaven is: sex with probably the hottest person he’s ever, like, actually known. “You - ahh, fuck, _Gabe_.”

“Hold on,” Gabe says, inexplicably, and then in one smooth movement he rolls them over, his arm still wrapped around Tyson, and then his hands are everywhere: in Tyson’s hair, stroking over his back, on his face, back down his shoulder blades and grabbing his ass. Tyson squirms against him, breathing out between kisses and running his own hands over Gabe’s firm shoulders, relishing the way Gabe is holding him. 

“Come on,” Tyson says then, breaking the kiss and pushing himself up a little so he can see Gabe’s face. “C’mon, I need - ” and then he cuts himself off on a sigh when Gabe presses his fingers between Tyson’s cheeks, brushing against his hole almost hesitantly. 

“Can I?” Gabe asks, and it would be embarrassing how quickly Tyson nods if it weren’t for the flush on Gabe’s cheeks, the way he looks sure of himself but also shy. “Do you have - ”

“Fuck,” Tyson mutters. “I do, but it’s - wait, no, shit, my bag is here, _yes_ \- ” and then Gabe is laughing as Tyson scrambles up off him and almost trips trying to get to his suitcase that’s still dumped by the door. He tears it apart looking for the lube that he knows is in there, finds it all the way at the bottom underneath one sock, and leaves everything in a heap blocking the door and rushes back to the bed, like he thinks Gabe might disappear if he’s gone too long. But Gabe is still there, one arm tucked behind his head, his cock hard against his stomach, his eyes soft as he looks at Tyson. 

Tyson drops the lube on the bed and leans down to kiss Gabe again, because he can and he wants to and he _can_. Gabe sighs against his mouth, reaching up to wrap his arms around Tyson’s shoulders and tug him back down to the bed, and Tyson goes easily, curling up on his side next to Gabe and kissing him with one hand on his face. Gabe puts his arm over Tyson, holds him close, and Tyson can feel him fumbling around for the lube. He hears the cap pop open when Gabe finds it, kisses Gabe’s chin and then his forehead, furrowed in concentration, and sighs against Gabe’s cheek when Gabe finally fucking touches him. 

“Fuck,” Tyson pants as Gabe grips his hip with his free hand and rolls onto his back again, taking Tyson with him as he carefully works one finger in. “You can - more.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Gabe says firmly, all nobly like he’s on some romance novel hero bullshit, and Tyson shivers.

“Fine, just hurry up, you don’t have to be this goddamn slow about it.”

“Of course you’re a brat even when you’re getting fingered,” Gabe mutters, and Tyson beams at him. 

“You know it. That’s - no, a little to the left - ”

“Stop directing me,” Gabe says, even as he does it, and Tyson laughs and then groans as Gabe finds the right angle. “Oh, okay, you were right - there.” He adds a second finger, then, slowly working them both back in as Tyson gasps a little and moans when Gabe hits his prostate for the second time. “Fuck,” Gabe mutters, glancing up at Tyson, his eyes dark. “You - dammit, Tyson.”

Tyson is having a hard time thinking words, let alone getting any out, and he just pushes back against Gabe’s hand and raises his eyebrows, letting his mouth fall open.

“You’re so hot,” Gabe says, almost helplessly. Tyson doesn’t really know how to respond to that - does Gabe know what he looks like? Does Gabe not own a mirror? - but he’s saved from feeling like he has to respond when Gabe works in a third finger. “Jesus, you take it so good.”

Tyson shoves his face into Gabe’s neck and nods, lets out a high-pitched whimper and bites at Gabe’s jaw when Gabe scissors his fingers. He’s already embarrassingly close, hasn’t been this close just from being fingered in years, and he manages to get out, “You - okay, Gabe, stop.”

Gabe does, instantly. “Are you - ”

“I’m close but I refuse to come like this,” Tyson says. “You gotta fuck me now, I’m coming on your dick, that’s what’s happening.”

Gabe closes his eyes, just for a second. Tyson can see his throat move as he swallows and feels like the most powerful person in the entire universe, for being the one to make Gabe Landeskog look like _that_. “Okay. How do you - ”

“Gonna ride you,” Tyson says, sitting up and fumbling around for the condom he brought over with the lube and Gabe groans, his eyes even darker. “Gonna - what the _fuck_ , where is it, I just had it.”

“Bedside table,” Gabe gets out, and Tyson snatches it up, fingers shaking again as he tears the packet open and grips the base of Gabe’s dick as he rolls it on. Gabe shivers a little as Tyson touches him, he’s pretty sure, and that’s - well. He’ll think about it later. Tyson will think about it all later, is pretty sure this will happen again but knows no matter how many times it happens, he’ll never forget a second of this. There’s no way he’s ever forgetting the way Gabe is looking at him right now: desperate, a little hungry, like Tyson is the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Okay,” Tyson says, almost to himself, shifting on top of Gabe and tightening his thighs on either side of Gabe’s torso and then sliding down on Gabe’s dick. Gabe gasps, his mouth falling open, groaning when Tyson is fully seated and leaning up to pull Tyson down by his shoulders until he can bring their mouths together again, a little sloppy and hot and overwhelming. Gabe is panting against Tyson’s mouth as Tyson rocks against him, thrusting up occasionally in a way that is not at all in rhythm with Tyson but works, somehow, has Tyson seeing stars. 

Tyson’s back starts to cramp after a minute and he falters, slowing down. “Let me go, I have to sit up, I - ”

“Thank god, me too,” Gabe says, voice shaking slightly, disentangling his arms from Tyson’s upper half and lying back down. “I was having visions of us both getting injured.”

“Don’t even,” Tyson says, speeding up again now that he has room to work. “Can you imagine? Day to day with upper body sex injuries.”

Gabe snorts out a laugh and rubs his hands over Tyson’s thighs. His eyes are soft when he reaches up to cup Tyson’s cheek with one hand, and Tyson sighs and turns his head, kisses Gabe’s palm. He’s close again, now, needs just another minute, and as if reading his mind, Gabe gets a hand on his dick, twisting his wrist as he jerks Tyson off, the drag of his hand just enough. The orgasm builds in Tyson’s gut slowly, lighting him up from the inside, and when it hits him he curses and groans out Gabe’s name and comes all over his chest. 

Gabe strokes his hands over Tyson’s thighs, murmuring something soft that Tyson can’t really hear, and he just grabs Gabe’s hands and holds on and clenches around him as he comes down. Gabe closes his eyes, his mouth falling open and face going slack and fingers tightening around Tyson’s, and Tyson leans down and kisses his cheeks and chin and jaw and eyelids as he comes. He rests his forehead against Gabe’s, lets Gabe untangle their fingers and gently grab Tyson’s hips to pull out of him, and shifts around to curl up in the space next to Gabe. He presses his cheek against Gabe’s bicep.

“Mm,” Gabe says unhappily. “Come back.”

“What?” Tyson says, not opening his eyes. “Where? I didn’t go anywhere.”

“All the way over there,” Gabe says, and Tyson presses a kiss to his arm and rolls so that he’s half on top of Gabe, head on his chest, tucked under his chin. “Better.” His voice vibrates through Tyson, and he squirms around and pulls the blankets up around them before trailing his fingertips down Tyson’s spine. Tyson can feel Gabe kiss his hair.

“Sorry for being such a dick all week,” Gabe says finally, enough time later that Tyson thought he’d fallen asleep. His voice is small, so unlike Gabe, and when Tyson lifts his head up Gabe looks embarrassed. 

“It’s okay,” Tyson says. “I mean - it’s not _okay_ , but…” He blows out a breath. “I get it. Sort of. Seriously, though, you could’ve just talked to me.”

“I know,” Gabe says. “Next time, I promise.”

“What, next time we have to share a bed and then EJ bullies us into sharing a bed again and then I get guilted by the rest of the team into keeping it up? I don’t see that happening again,” Tyson says. 

“Shut up,” Gabe says. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, Gabe, you better not keep hiding it from me that you like me.”

“I don’t, I can’t stand you.”

“Liar,” Tyson says, pinching Gabe’s side, and leans up to kiss him again.

-

There’s a team dinner their first night back after the All Star break, back on the road in Vancouver. Tyson sits between Nate and Ghetto, across from Gabe, and he can feel Gabe’s eyes on him all night, a small smile on Gabe’s face every time Tyson glances up and they make eye contact. It sends butterflies skittering through Tyson’s stomach.

“Okay, enough,” EJ says when it happens for the sixth or seventh time, post-dessert. A lot of the guys have cleared out already, off to call their wives or get to sleep early, and it’s just a small group of them left. “This is disgusting.”

“What’s disgusting?” JT asks, looking between EJ and Gabe, who look delightfully evil and murderous, respectively. “What’d I miss?”

“Oh, JT, you sweet sunflower,” EJ sighs. “Tyson and Gabe are…” He makes a circle with his thumb and index finger and pokes his other finger through it, adds horrific sound effects that Tyson thinks is supposed to be a mattress squeaking. 

“Oh, finally,” Josty says, as JT nods next to him, which Tyson thinks is a bit rich coming from them. He doesn’t really need the rookies’ input on his love/sex life. 

“For god’s sake, Erik,” Gabe says. “You did this! On purpose!”

EJ is already shaking his head. “No, no no, that was for the win streak.” He sounds too innocent. 

“You _knew_?” Tyson demands. “You set us up?”

“What are you talking about?” Mikko asks. “Is this about the bed sharing again?”

EJ grins. Next to Tyson, Nate snickers. Tyson turns on him with the fury and power of a lion who’s just spotted her prey. “ _Nathan!_ ”

“We had to do something,” Nate says, holding his hands out plaintively. “We clearly couldn’t count on you two to get your shit together and figure out how gone you both are for each other. It was our job.”

“Our responsibility,” EJ puts in.

Across the table, Gabe is looking between them with his mouth hanging open; he hadn’t known about Nate being involved either, Tyson thinks. “So you decided to make us literally sleep together? You couldn’t think of anything simpler?”

EJ shrugs. “This seemed fun.”

“It wasn’t,” Gabe says darkly. 

“Here I was, thinking I was being self-sacrificing, martyring myself for the good of the team,” Tyson says, “but all along I was being betrayed by my best friend. I really am like Jesus.”

“No, you’re not,” Gabe says at the same time the rest of the group groans and EJ throws a sugar packet at him. It bounces off Tyson’s shoulder and hits Nate, which just goes to show that karma is real. Gabe is smiling at Tyson from across the table, his face warm and open, and Tyson smiles back helplessly, nudges Gabe’s ankle with his foot under the table.

Mikko clears his throat. “That’s my foot, Tyson.”

The entire table, minus Gabe, collapses in laughter as Tyson withdraws his foot, face burning. Gabe catches his eye and smiles more widely, though, so Tyson doesn’t even care. Let them laugh. He’s pretty sure he won this round, anyway.


End file.
